


Kaffee mit zwei Zucker

by jenna_thorn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the moment of silence that followed, he said, “Then it’s settled. Dr. Zelenka will present in Vienna as co-author with Major Lorne as escort. There’s no reason for Dr. McKay to interrupt his work.”</p><p>“What, wait, what? When did we talk about that?”</p><p>“Meetings, Rodney,” John stood and clapped a hand on McKay’s shoulder. “Communication and planning and all. Lorne,” he paused. “You good?”</p><p>“Just trying to decide on the color for the corsage, sir.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaffee mit zwei Zucker

With the ease of long practice, Lorne kept his face still as McKay paced the length of the conference room table. At one end Sheppard slouched and watched him, at the other Zelenka tapped on his laptop and ignored him.

“We’re on Earth!” McKay repeated.

“And if I may remind you of your own experience –.“ Woolsey said.

“I was there! A mouth breather with a gun wouldn’t have been helpful. I saved the day. Again.”

Sheppard drawled, “Do we need to have the insult lecture again, Rodney? I bet he’s still got the PowerPoint.”

“I do, in fact.” Woolsey said, his tone not quite dry enough to hide his amusement. “I’ve even added specific examples  --.” He trailed off as McKay threw himself into a chair hard enough to set it moving. Zelenka stuck one foot out to stop it without looking up.

“If Rodney refuses an escort,” Zelenka said, continuing smoothly over Rodney’s snorted “Babysitter.” “Then perhaps an alternative presenter should be considered.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’d have to be you or me, and you’re … trying to get out of the code refresh. You traitor.”

Zelenka did raise his head then, blinking in fake confusion. “No, no, Rodney. Your vocabulary is wrong. You mean ‘team player’.”

Lorne looked to Sheppard, who glanced at Woolsey while McKay and Zelenka argued about footnotes. Woolsey raised an eyebrow, Sheppard tilted his head in inquiry, and Lorne nodded. Woolsey slapped both hands to the table. In the moment of silence that followed, he said, “Then it’s settled. Dr. Zelenka will present in Vienna as co-author with Major Lorne as escort. There’s no reason for Dr. McKay to interrupt his work.”

“What, wait, what? When did we talk about that?”

“Meetings, Rodney,” John stood and clapped a hand on McKay’s shoulder. “Communication and planning and all. Lorne,” he paused. “You good?”

“Just trying to decide on the color for the corsage, sir.”

“I’ll leave that to your discretion. C’mon Rodney, time to –“

“But we _didn’t_ communicate. Nobody listened to me.” Rodney let himself be pulled from the conference room as Zelenka ran both hands through his hair then clicked his laptop closed.

-o-

Zelenka shifted from foot to foot. Their pre-dawn arrival only complicated his disorientation and the number on the clock had no relevance to any part of his body. “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t have two connecting rooms available at this time.  We do have rooms on the same floor...” She trailed off, hopefully.

Lorne smiled. “Go ahead and get your manager, ma’am, because we’re going to need her sooner rather than later.”

Hello my name is Miriam stepped away from her computer and signaled a woman in a darker jacket. Zelenka eyed the lobby couch longingly and inched away, only to stop when Lorne gripped his wrist. He hadn’t even seen the man move. Zelenka sighed and Lorne twitched. “Fine,” Lorne said, “but that one, and no farther.” He leaned sideways against the counter and Zelenka clutched his messenger bag to his chest as he took the few steps to the welcome embrace of an overstuffed wingback chair. Lorne’s voice, clipped but courteous, faded into the babble of languages and scents swirling around him.

“One more stretch, doc. We’ve got rooms.” Lorne nudged his foot with the rollaway.

“Do you not tire?”

“Slept on the plane,” Lorne answered, and Radek shuddered.  The seats in the cargo area of some numbered military plane had five point safety harnesses and little padding and no tea tray. Or stewards. He was quite sure that Rodney would have insisted on business class tickets and complained about the beverage choice, but he found it hard to demand anything when the major took everything with calm aplomb. Even now, Radek carried only the bag containing his laptop, notes, and identification, while Lorne managed both bags, his own case, and, he thought, exiting the elevator, upgrading their rooms. He paused obediently at a hand on his chest as Lorne opened the door, stepped in for a few moments, then gestured him in. “Shall I sit?” he asked. “Or are we still officially in transit?”

Lorne twisted his mouth in a rueful twist. “Sorry doc. Guess I’ve been a little pushy.”

“No, not at all. All right, yes, a little. But I don’t mind, so long as I can … oh,  a shower would be nice, first.”

“Go ahead. We’ll let this be yours,” he unbolted the adjoining room, “and I’ll take the other, okay?”

Radek tossed his blazer toward the desk and watched with disinterest as it slithered to the floor. “What? Yes, anything. Food?”

“I’ve got it, doc. You hit the bathroom.”

As much as he resented time away from his work, Radek thought, coming in a day early was probably wise. The sun was rising and he was exhausted. He draped the second towel over his head and exited the steamy bathroom to find Lorne pulling a cart into the room and closing the door. The black webbing of his shoulder holster was a stark line against the rumpled white button down shirt he wore.

Radek sat on the edge of the bed, heedless of his damp towel on the woven duvet cover. “Coffee?”

“No coffee.”

“It’s Vienna.”

“You need to sleep.”

Radek snorted. “As though coffee would keep me from sleeping.” But he took the tea cup and inhaled gratefully.

“Think of it as a reward, then, doc. You sleep for six hours, and we’ll go out for coffee and pastry. Here, ham, no cheese, mayo. Eat.”

Radek chewed between yawns and flopped backward on the bed. He thought about curling between the sheets and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Light woke him, bringing him from a nightmare of Ascension to blinking into the beams of noon sun streaming through the windows. He threw off the edge of the duvet spread over him and padded, naked, to the window. Close enough to home and too many years apart, he thought, before retrieving the abandoned towels from the bed and hanging them in the bathroom. The tisane on the cart was cold, but he drank it anyway, still dry from the flight.

He dressed quickly from the already opened bag. His suit was missing, but he was sure it hadn’t strayed far. The adjoining door pushed open silently and he padded barefoot into the other room. Lorne lay, fully dressed, on top of the bed and as Radek considered clearing his throat, or perhaps knocking, Lorne rolled to a half-seated position, his weapon and his eyelids rising at the same time. Radek stood very still. “Vienna,” he said. “The theoretical physics conference tomorrow.”

“Right, right.” Lorne shook his head and yawned. He rolled his shoulders under the rig and grabbed his blazer and as though electrical current had been diverted, he was awake and alive with energy. “You wanting to sightsee a bit?”

“You did promise me coffee.”

Lorne’s smile was blinding. “That I did. Give me a second.” He headed to his bathroom, though he didn’t close the door completely.

Radek poked at his relatively unwrinkled suit, hanging on Lorne’s door. He hadn’t thought to steam it when he’d taken his own shower. “Major, how did you know about the rose hip tea with lemon?”

“Remember Domina Zenetra’s gardens?”

“The one with the .. ah, yes. We did discuss tea. Your sweet tea and the blue teapot of your aunt’s. I do remember. And the cheese?”

Lorne frowned at him in confusion then tossed the towel to the counter. “Doc, I’ve eaten in the field with you how often? And how many times have I watched you pick the cheese off commissary sandwiches? You don’t like cheese.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a map of the local areas and asked some friends for suggestions. You good to go?”

“I am in your hands.”

-o-

Lorne set his empty cup on an unoccupied corner of a table spread with pastry and fruit. One hotel ballroom was much like another. Rows of chairs and generic wallpaper and sound systems that squealed and squawked. Their outing the day before had been a treat; he’d called a buddy who’d been stationed here and got some advice, so he walked past the tourist places and found a little hole in the wall café with an interior courtyard and near empty seats and a couple of GIs wearing civvies in the corner who waved with casual familiarity.  Today, however, he was stuck in a high end hotel that looked much like every other high end hotel, not that he’d been in all that many of them. The coffee was good, though.

He wasn’t the only bodyguard present at the conference, Lorne noted with some humor. The Georgian contingent had two stretched between five people, and the North Koreans flipped that ratio. He gave them both as much space as he could. Zelenka helped where he could, staying close and only a couple of times darting off to see someone or something.

Lorne’s German was good enough to read a menu and not much better, but he was surprised to discover that years of living in the Babel of Atlantis meant he could catch enough nouns to identify the topic of conversations in the hall. Radek was on best behavior, starting conversations in Russian or Czech but switching to English as a courtesy. Lorne didn’t understand much more then, as the discussions were peppered with names he didn’t know and theorems he didn’t understand, but he smiled and nodded and went back to watching the people around them. 

Most of the time, that’s what he did, looking for out of place boxes, watching for anyone moving with purpose, keeping track of Zelenka with the ease of long practice. He amused himself by spotting obvious surreptitious recording devices, the antique brooch in the plastic case dragging down one participant’s lapel, the Cold War-era Rolex heavy on another’s wrist. He sat at edge of the first row, Zelenka’s bag between his feet, watching the audience, the doors, Radek himself as he carefully kept only to the released and de-classified bullet points. He ended with an unscripted addition, saying that he’d very much like to take questions, but wouldn’t be able to answer anything that required clearance in an open venue. No one asked anything at all and Radek sighed, a small movement in the glare of the projector.  Lorne met him at the side of the portable stage, a bottle of water in one hand and the laptop bag held open for Zelenka’s computer with the other.

“What’s next on the agenda, doc?”

“Sitting in the rear of the auditorium and holding my tongue while people hypothesize about what we’ve already practiced. Or perhaps a walk in sunshine.”

“I happen to know a park. With coffee.”

“Ah, your idea is better. Quietly now.”

Cross slung across his back, the laptop bag wasn’t too awkward and it was a hell of a lot lighter than his standard pack. Radek was quiet, nodding briskly to various people with name badges on lanyards as they left the hotel and turned toward the river.

“I think we shall miss Zaibayna’s presentation. He is almost right, and I cannot tell him so, nor deflect his opponents. It is difficult. Science should be shared, advances should be open. I have had enough of being secret. Hushed voices and smuggled journals and always someone censoring. Bah, this was supposed to be better.”

“Communist or capitalist, we’ve still got to keep our mouths shut. It’s the price we pay for seeing other stars.”

“When does it become easy?”

“Does it? Hold up.” He put one hand on Zelenka’s shoulder, as a reminder, a signal, as he scanned the area for anything but nannies and couples with cameras. “Me, I’ve done it for so long, I’ve forgotten how not to. But I don’t think it’s ever easy. Stay to this side of me, please.”

“Why?” Zelenka asked, as he moved around.

“Fellow in the tan jacket.” Lorne carefully didn’t smile as he saw Zelenka twitch, then carefully glance to the side. “He’s standing there with a camera taking pictures of people and not the ducks. Tuck your badge away if you would, please.” He tapped the edge of his own, concealed in his shirt pocket and Zelenka tugged the lanyard free, wrapped the ribbon around the badge, and tucked the whole in his jacket. “You wanted coffee?”

“I want a world with no secrets. None at all.”

Lorne laughed. “Let me know when that happens.” He leaned toward the counter and ordered in German, then guided Zelenka to a table near the wall.

“You are taking care of me.”

“Escort duty, doc.”

“You have been taking care of me.”

“You’re my science rep on SGA-2.”

“But you have been taking care of me.”

Lorne blinked in confusion and a little worry. Had he let something slip? Tan Jacket had plopped himself on a park bench and was scrolling through his photos. “That’s what I do, Dr. Z. You open the door, Parrish gets grass stains and pollen in his hair, Messner complains about the rain and his boots and the color of the sky,“ he paused as Zelenka grinned into his coffee, then continued, “And I row the boat.”

Zelenka took a sip of his coffee, then frowned into the cup. Lorne thought back over the order -- black _mit_ two sugars. _Zucker._ Should be right. Two was _zwei_ ; three was _drei_. Had he said _drei_? “Did I screw up?” Surely too much sugar wasn’t a problem.

“No, no, I am just thinking. Perhaps I am incorrect.”

“Never admit that, doc. McKay’d crow about it for too long.”

“But I suspect you will keep it in confidence. Perhaps we should get back to the hotel.”

Zelenka remained seated while Lorne fumbled the unfamiliar bills from a wallet too small for them. He triplechecked the math, then caught Zelenka’s smile. He put down another bill and watched for a reaction. “You do remember that we’re team, and team covers for …”

“You were correct the first time,” Zelenka said.

“Right then, let’s go.”

“Are we team, Major Lorne?”

“Of course, doc.”

“And you know how Messner takes his coffee.”

Lorne rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure they were having the same conversation any more. “Black and bitter, like his heart. Parrish is blonde and sweet, his taste in women. Makes it easy to remember.”

As they stepped out of the café, the doorman of the hotel nearby opened the door and an upswell of movement alarmed Lorne. He swept Zelenka to the brick wall and had his hand inside his jacket and on his weapon when he realized they weren’t the center of the circle; the hotel door was. Some redhaired woman wearing oversized sunglasses and an undersized skirt ignored the flashing of cameras around her as she crawled into the passenger door of a luxury sedan. Tan Jacket stood in the drive, shooting the departing car, until the valet tugged him out of the way of other vehicles. Lorne took a breath, then stepped away, freeing Zelenka. “You all right?”

“Grateful.”

Lorne shrugged. “Yeah well, I saved you from a horde of paparazzi who weren’t actually after you. Sorry about that.” He ran his hands over the shoulders and arms of Zelenka’s suit, brushing free lines of dust from the brick.

“I am grateful nonetheless,” Zelenka answered. “Shall we return to the conference? And keeping secrets.”

“I’m telling you, doc. The secrets stay with us whether we’re here or there.”

“I still dislike them.”

“Good for you, but that doesn’t change anything.”

-o-

The afternoon’s presentations were a varied lot. Radek gathered materials as a matter of course. Some would be of interest to others on the Atlantis project; others would provide entertainment as they were redlined and mocked. He watched from the rear of the room as various persons called out commentary, or pressed their own agendas, or boasted of grants and advances, or stood to the side, watching and listening without speaking, much like himself. Anything past common gossip was either fundamental and academic or covered by the NDA he had signed so long ago. Worse, the common gossip was filled with obituaries, reminding him again of how many years he had been a galaxy away, surrounded by people who had become his colleagues. These were no longer his peers.

And always, behind him and just enough to the side that he could see him, was the Major, watching the others, watching the exits, his hands always empty and his jacket unbuttoned. His face, at rest, was not quite neutral and not entirely friendly, but when he noticed Radek’s regard, he always smiled, short and perhaps a little weary at the edges. A data point. The afternoon passed in a blur of notes and handouts and a logo-ed totebag full of brochures for programs he couldn’t use for students he didn’t have.

The social gathering was not required, except in the way that it was. They made conversation with people who hadn’t made the Stargate program, but who knew enough to be wary of them both, and ignored others who hadn’t and didn’t. He was deep in conversation with an old schoolmate, hearing about his new London flat and Parisian wife when he realized that he was alone, and, alarmed, he glanced around the room. A flicker of motion caught his eye; Lorne was at the bar, and had spotted the moment he himself had looked around. He returned to expressing his admiration for various tourist destinations he’d never seen and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally made it clear he would not be joining any academic institution, no matter how prestigious, and his acquaintance went off in search of other prey. Radek took the glass Lorne offered. “Wine? You have vodka.”

Lorne waggled the glass of clear liquid at eye level. “I have water.”

“Would you not drink with me?”

“Only in private, doc. This isn’t. Besides, I have drunk with you. Remember the _piro_ harvest?”

“I thought we had agreed to never speak of that again.” Radek muttered darkly, but in the privacy of his own mind, he heard the soft squeak of chalk on slate, another data point clicking into place. He stood, the wine tannic against his tongue and remembered that day, and how Lorne and Messner had laughed as they pulled him free of the vat of fermenting plums, how Lorne had been the one to loan him clean clothing, mis-sized though it was. “I could have drowned.”

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

“I know.” Now that he was looking for it, he realized he _did_ know and could tally the moments, scratch scratch scratch, and a slide to mark off five lines: biting back obscenities as Lorne scrabbled through the rockfall to reach him then argued about taking the equipment first; standing in the shadow of the man, his arms around him in a parody of an embrace, the crosshatched etching of the grip of the handgun digging into his palms; sitting to the side on the mats of the gym, weary of repeated falls and throws as Lorne, who had been so patient with him, turned to the military personnel and threw them about the room with considerably less care; borrowing a half full sketchbook for notes when his batteries died and the good natured ribbing that followed about how pencils always worked, in the rain, without a router, even on a far-off planet in another galaxy. He had noticed the sketches of himself at that point, but accepted the obvious explanation. After all, Parrish never did sit still.

He had shouted at Rodney two days before about ignoring available data that contraindicated his assumptions. Perhaps he owed him an apology. Not that he would ever deliver.

“Care to share?” Lorne broke into his reverie.

“What?”

“You were smiling.”

“I was thinking that we have fulfilled our duty here, and I weary of being professional.”

“If I can lose the ties, I’m for it.”

“Yes, yes, I think we can both shed some constraints.”

The door between their rooms stayed open, even as Radek announced he was changing for dinner. Lorne flapped the end of his apparently hated tie through the door in acknowledgement, and Radek leaned on the chest of drawers, evaluating himself in the mirror.

Short, a little scrawny, hair awry. McKay was a genius, but then, so were they all. He knew his value to the expedition. McKay worked in leaps; Radek himself thought in steps, building bridges and foundations brick by brick while McKay swung over chasms with no way for anyone else to follow. Tally marks in chalk on a board. He so hated the smell of the dry erase markers the Americans supplied.

“Major, are you decent?” Radek called.

Lorne laughed. “Good thing I’m not a Marine. Never ask them that.”

“I have been thinking.” He stepped into the doorway. Lorne sat on the edge of his bed, one shoe off, his laptop booting up behind him.

“Seems to be a good place for it.”

Radek tugged his shirt tail free, knowing how wanton he looked, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his undershirt too thin for modesty. “No, not about physics, about words. I think that you back Messner, but you draw me. I think you herd Parrish, but you escort me. I think that perhaps I am not team. Or,” he corrected himself, “not only team.” Now that he was looking for it, he saw it, the blink, the pause, the subtle shift in posture. “I had not realized that you are an attractive man. No, I misspeak. I knew you were an attractive man. I had not realized the attraction was mutual.”

Lorne seemed to find the carpet of great and sudden interest. “What gave me away?”

“Despite what Rodney thinks, I am not stupid.”

“I never said you were, doc, but … I can’t slip. I can’t.”

“You didn’t. Not until now.”  Radek stepped forward, into the space between Lorne’s knees, decidedly intimate, certainly aggressive. Lorne raised one hand, not quite touching his shirt, a millimeter away. A breath away. Radek placed his hand over Lorne’s wrist. He did not tighten his hold. He knew of three separate ways to break such a grasp, all of which had been taught him by the man he touched. So he simply laid his hand over and waited. He caught his breath when Lorne pressed their joined hands to his chest.

Radek bent from the waist and Lorne tipped up his face to watch him, a sunflower facing the sun, no, nothing so poetic, simply this man, who he had seen triumphant and exhausted, ferocious and indulgent. Who had seen him wounded and terrified and furious and yet watched him now with hope and some worry.

Radek had meant to keep the kiss gentle, but Lorne, no, <i>Evan</i>, pulled at the loose edges of his shirt, not quickly but with the strength that he knew lay in those arms, so he let himself overbalance, never breaking the kiss, growing more frantic as they fell backward on the bed and slid into alignment, pelvis to pelvis. He thrust downward and Evan gasped. He did not hide his smile, predatory as it was. He pushed himself up on one elbow and grabbed at the laptop sliding toward Evan’s head with the other hand.

“I’ll get that.” Evan rolled out from under him, scooped the laptop into his arms and stood to place it on the table by the window. The blue on blue desktop background flickered up, the password request box glowing white in the center.

Radek stayed on the bed. “How long?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly, no. Or yes, if I want to find out how long I have been blind. I do not, I think, so no. I withdraw the question.”

“That’s probably for the best. I’ll give you a moment.”

Radek unbuckled his belt. “I said I withdraw the question, not the proposal.” He was gratified to find that the soft pop of the stiff leather through the loops of his slacks had Evan’s full attention. “Are you aware that you are in parade rest? I ask only in curiosity.”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“I don’t mind. It’s a good pose for display. Aesthetically. Better were you nude. Let’s do that. Now, I think.”

Evan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, but despite his snort of frustration, his smile was soft. “Radek, I’m sorry, and I won’t deny anything, but we can’t… You asked how long. Two years, okay? And as much as I’m going to kick myself in the morning, I’m not … I want more than … I won’t sacrifice the relationship I do have for one you don’t want.”

“I don’t want a relationship?” Radek was fairly sure he should be insulted.

“Secrets, remember? You don’t like them.”

“True, very true, but I have long known how to keep them.” He knelt on the bed and leaned forward to loop a finger through Evan’s chain, the dogtags dangling against the back of his hand. “I understand this need, even if I do not like it.” He tugged lightly and Evan stepped forward. “This….” he pulled Evan into another kiss, this one almost chaste, but with promises he intended to keep. “This is something worth keeping.”

**Author's Note:**

> with thanks to Beadslut for beta-ing.


End file.
